A Name and a Brother
by FrostyPhoenix
Summary: "Well, have you got a brother or something?" "No, not anymore. It's just me, now." In which, on the red hills of Gallifrey, a familiar young Time Lord chooses a name, a destiny...and a favorite hair color. And all from his beloved and seldom mentioned brother.


**_Right! Hello! Inspired from a quote in Smith and Jones. Yeah! _**

_"Well, that wasn't very smart of you, running around outside this morning," Martha remarked, fumbling with her stethoscope. _

_"What do you mean?" Asked Mr. Smith, looking nonplussed. "I wasn't—I've been here all morning, ask the nurses."_

_She frowned at him. "But I saw you—this morning, outside. You came up to me and took your tie off." _

_Instead of confirming, Mr. Smith's eyes widened and he leaned forward slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking like she was telling him some fantastic secret. "Really?" He asked, not sounding the least bit skeptical, but genuinely curious. "What did I do that for?" _

_Martha blinked, a bit thrown off by his reaction. "I don't know. I mean...have you got a brother or something?" _

_The second it left her mouth, she realized something was wrong. Mr. Smith hesitated—just for the slightest moment—before replied, his eyes distant with memories Martha couldn't see. "No—not anymore. It's just me now." _

—•—•—

The red grasses stretched for miles over the rolling hills like a flickering sea of rubies underneath a sky that was bursting with brilliant colors (caused by the reflecting rays of the planet's twin suns) with so many names that only those native to the planet would have been there long enough to see and name them all. A perfect breeze whipped through the air, begging others to stop and relax.

But the two boys running in these vast, peaceful hills didn't have any intention of stopping or relaxing. Laughing wildly, they chased each other through the ankle deep grass, their feet pounding onto the ground like their four heartbeats, the wind combing their hair into wild shapes.

One boy—smaller and lighter than the first—had sped a little more than an arm's length ahead of the older, his youthful laugh singing his triumph. But the other, fit in his own right, set his goal and concentrated fiercely, pumping his arms, his feet flying faster and faster and faster and the distance between them fell away—

The older boy gave a fantastic, flying leap, catching the smaller around the neck and pulling them both down. The younger boy gave a grunt of shock and the weight caused his knees to buckle underneath both bodies and the two went tumbling all pell-Mel into the soft grass, rolling and rolling until they both finally came to a halt and lay splayed on their backs, breathing hard, each of their twin hearts beating powerfully in their sensitive ears. For a moment, the two lay in silence, staring unseeingly at the infinite sky, when the older boy said abruptly, "I can't believe you're graduating from the academy."

The younger boy snorted. "Aw, come on! I've watched you be the star of the family ever since they gave you that spot on the council. But now it's finally my turn!" While his words were half-hearted, his teasing tone was true.

The older boy laughed. "Just don't do anything that makes you regenerate, little brother. But if you did, you might get lucky and end up with my hair!" He tugged on a hank of his locks, which were the most extraordinary shade of red—it was a dark, rich color that seemed to hold pieces of light in each strand, making it almost blend in with the grass on which they lay.

The younger, however, was not appeased. "No!" He yelped, making a face at the now garnet and indigo sky. "Why would I want to be all..._carroty_? I'm staying this way, thanks." He gestured to his own hair, which was a deep shade of brown.

"Ah, no matter," said the other airily. "We've already got the same eyes." It was true—both boys had irises of an identical chocolate color. The younger boy chuckled at this before falling silent. For another moment, things were quiet.

"Ginger."

The older boy blinked before rising on one elbow to look at his more callow companion. "Finally decided on what you're gonna call yourself when you graduate? Ginger?"

"No, you dolt. I talking about you. Cos you're all red. But speaking of, where did you find a name like Professor?" He snickered.

"Ah, you think its funny?" Before the younger of the two could react, he was crushed in a headlock by the older and felt the broad knuckles grind into his head in a playful-yet-painful action.

"Oh, get off!" He huffed, wriggling and squirming until he finally managed to wrench away. "The names fits you, though—you're usually so wrapped up in your reading I can hardly get you out here any more." The older one laughed.

"Do you even remember my real name?"

"'Course I do! I did know you for that first fifteen years!"

"Then what is it?"

For another moment, there is silence.

The younger boy pops up onto his elbow, facing the older, his eyes suddenly wide. "Oh," he breaths, drawing it out as he's finally understood. "So...I got it!" He grinned wildly, slapping his hand down on the grass and crushing the fragile strands. "I'll be Warrior!"

Professor shakes his head, his eyes widening. "But—listen—because it's not even that. I didn't just choose 'Professor' as my name because Aaron also meant 'teacher'. It's because I wanted to teach people—I want to be peaceful, and teach and enlighten and—" he stopped, overcome with his words, and simply gestured to the sky and flopped back down on his back. "I want to be a doctor of knowledge," he said finally. "I want to heal things. I want to be a doctor." He went rigid at those words before his head snapped up. "You could be The Doctor!"

"What?" Scoffed the younger, rolling his eyes at the perse, amaranthine sky. "Nah! What fun is being a doctor? Stay in one place, dragged down by all the ones who are too dumb to take care of themselves? But a warrior! A warrior goes where he wants, does what he pleases! A warrior defends the home, offends the enemy! Assimilates glory! That—now _that_ is life!" With that final yell, he leapt to his feet. "Come on, Professor! Teach me how to run!" He laughed ebulliently, taking off into the violaceous night.

He didn't know how long he'd been running when he realized that his brother was not chasing after him.

The boy froze, every nerve in his system singing. Profes—Aaron knew that he was afraid of the dark every since his friend had told him stories about the Vashta Nerada. Logic told him there couldn't be any here, but it wasn't hard for his vivid imagination to run rampant. But Aaron wouldn't sneak up on him like that...would he?

Night had fallen, plunging the landscape into darkness. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered the boy since he could automatically sense his cardinal directions and knew exactly how to get back to the city, even in total darkness—but now he was afraid to advance. The blackness seemed to be like a solid wall, pressing in on him from all sides and he felt his hearts bang in his chest like drums.

Suddenly, off in the distance there was a sound of wrenched machinery and a brief, brilliant flash of colored light—a split-second slash of white/green on a pitch canvas—and a toneless shout of surprise that the boy recognized to be—

"Aaron!" He yelled desperately, taking off in the direction where the long-gone light had burnished into his eyes. His mind was churning out the worst possibilities—Aaron hurt because the Vashta Nerada had gotten him—Aaron injured by those carnivorous shadows! Fear thrummed in his blood like ice and desperation burned like fire as he sprinted towards the sound of his brothers shout. "AARON!" He yelled again, but there was no reply.

In the total darkness he had no idea how far he'd gone. The grass whipped his ankles as he darted through them, faster than he'd ever gone—oh, Rassilon—where was Aaron?!

Suddenly, his foot caught something and the momentum carried his feet out from under him, causing him to tumble painfully to the ground. What—these fields had no obstacles—no ruts, rocks, roots! What had tripped over?! He spat dirt from his mouth and heaved himself to his hands and knees, cautiously patting the ground around him. Odd, there was nothing but the wispy strands of grass beneath his—suddenly, his left ring and pinkie fingers grazed something large. The boy held his breath, carefully feeling forward. It was large...it was slightly warm...and soft...his hand found a distinctive curve in the structure and the picture that was being painted in his head was unmistakeable. A shoulder...his hearts once again began to speed up and his breaths came in terrified rasps as he used the hands of his species, fingers so molecularly sensitive that they could sense information of books in the very air, the very feeling of the world turning, even the color of an object when the eyes were closed... He felt a neck, an ear...hands shaking, he brushed his fingertips over the nose, eyes, mouth, cheeks...his cursed cognitive abilities created in image in his mind, of a familiar face, and while he hoped it wasn't true...trembling, he slid his fingertips upwards until he felt the softness of hair...

The soft strands of red hair.

"Aaron..." The boy murmured, feeling the oddest numbness slide over his heart.

"Initial primary threat exterminated."

The young boy choked on air. What—the voice was wrong, it was pitched so agonizingly wrong, the inflection was off...it was an unfeeling voice, one that rasped and creaked like rusty gears. What was it? Oh, Rassilon!—what the hell was it?

"Witness—detected!"

The boy stiffened, shaking with terror. Oh—oh, _no_, it was talking about him! It was somewhere out there is the endless dark, somewhere too close! His fingers fisted unconsciously; one hand gripping Aaron's shirt and the other tightening in the strands of his hair.

A deep, agonizingly slow whirring sound groaned in his ears—something was moving!

Then, there was a blue light.

That was all he could see in the darkness. It was a bright blue color, right above him—! It turned downwards with that same whirring until it was angled down at him, freezing him in its ray like it was some sort of transmat beam.

For a moment, he stared at the light.

The light was trained on him.

Suddenly, the same rumbling, horribly mechanic voice burst from the light like static:

"He is..."

The boy held his breath.

"...not a threat."

A shuddering gasp fell from the boy's mouth—one of shock, one of grief, one of absurdity—but the thing appeared to nit have noticed.

"He is...young, but will be...a common warrior. Warriors stand no chance against a Dalek!"

The boy trembled. What was that? Da-lek? What the hell was a Da-lek?

"There is nothing he can do to save his kin."

Oh, no. _No_.

"Temporal Shift—activated!"

The boy cried out in fear as there was a blinding flash of light and he threw himself over his older brother, terrified—

And then it was gone.

The blue light, the thing, the...the Da-lek, and it was gone.

The murderer of the last of his family...

And it was gone.

The boy said nothing. Screamed nothing, cried nothing. He just couldn't. All he could do was hold tighter to the limp body of his brother, burying his face into his shoulder, trying to ignore how he couldn't hear the twin heart beats that had always comforted him...

And that was how they were found the next day by their people, long after the twin suns had risen into the sky.

—•—•—

Three days.

That was all it had taken.

That was how long it took for the the council to find a new member, to hold a funeral for his brother, to finish the preparations for those graduating the academy.

Yet his younger brother sat in his room, unseeing, unmoving, unresponsive.

One of the councilmen had told him what the Daleks were—a cold, detached race of aliens that had long since removed all emotions except for hate.

Did they really think the boy cared?

Many council members were concerned—such a tragic thing happening before such an important event—some wanted to take him out of the ceremony, fearing he'd use his opportunities for vengeance and anger and grief. But in the end, they decided, it wasn't fair to do the poor boy this one more injustice. He needed this. If all went well, he would pull through.

A very big if, indeed.

Everyone knew what had happened. So when the boy of fifteen took the stage that day upon his turn at the ceremony, ready to choose his name and make his promise, they all expected the brown haired, brown eyed child to choose 'Warrior.' Or perhaps 'Soldier.' Or maybe even 'Avenger.'

For a moment, the boy just stood there, staring with fully seeing eyes into the crowd, turning the customary respectful silence into an awkward one.

Then, using his birth name and then his chosen promise name, he said, in a voice so powerful, so purposeful:

"I am Cadman Viatrix, and I am the Doctor."

For this is a promise he made and promise he needed to keep. For anyone can be a warrior. Anyone can fight with fighting. But in the end, who will that save? So he made this vow to himself, and to all the universes: He was the Doctor, and he would never let anyone get hurt again.

**Cadman: Name meaning Warrior, Fighter**

**Viatrix: Surname meaning Traveller, Trespasser. **


End file.
